Capturing Crispy
by Geeky Monkey -purple
Summary: What happens when someone is murdered in the band room by a phantom? Crispy dedicates herself heart and soul to bringing down the culprit! Rated M for murder...
1. A Violent Beginning

The Phantom twisted the rope one more time with the victim's own baton. The director's gasping breaths and groping hands were weakening. His pleading expression softened with the weightlessness of death. Just a second more. When the director's eyes lost their last glitter of life, the phantom still remained, breathing heavily. The maskerd figure had exerted itself more than it had initially planned, but time was running short. At last, it turned away from it's deed, it's cape floating behind like the wake of a boat on the sea at night. It strode from the room, satisfied with what it had done.


	2. Just Nervous

"What's going on?"

"Oh my God!"

"But what about the concert?"

"Let me through!" Crispy shouted as she squeezed between two whispering students to reach Stephanie and Ebony. "Well?"

"Just look." Stephanie pointed through he pane glass door of the music room and between several police officers who were attempting unsuccessfully to hide the crime scene within. Crispy cought glances of the director's body being carried out a back door and more officers taking pictures of the wall, though she couldn't see why.

Her mind raced. Why Mr. Moreau?

Ebony chuckled, "The Phantom of the Band Room though? How unoriginal..."

"What?" Crispy was brought out of deep thought.

"The Phantom of the Band Room. That's what they call themselves. They wrote it on the wall, didn't you see?"

"No..." She trailed off as she noticed several of the officers by the door had moved to carry someone who had somehow gotten inside back outside. She heard Brandon shouting at the top of his lungs as they muscled him towards the door,

"I WANT MY CAMERA! MY CAMERA! AND MY TRUMPET!" It was like a scene from a movie with some punk being thrown out of a restaraunt and his stuff after him. "That's police brutality, you know!" He noticed the girls' questioning faces. "I went in to get my trumpet."

"With a camera?" Ebony asked knowingly.

"Great footage I got too, unless..." he opened up his camera to check for film... it wasn't there. "Damn, they took it."

Crispy thought her friends were taking this way too lightly. _Everyone_ was taking this way too lightly. Someone had been murdered in the band room and all people worried about was next week's concert or how they would get their instruments out of the instrument room. They should be wondering _why_ this happened, _who_ did it, and are any of _us_ in any danger here. At the very least have some respect for the dead Mr. Moreau.

"How'd you get in there anyhow?" asked Stephanie.

"The super-mega-secret-french-horns-only-entrance." he replied proudly.

"You know about that?" Ebony asked, while Crispy looked mildly shocked but more focused on the crime scene in the band room, both of them being horn players. It had been a french horn player who found the entrance behind the air conditioning unit when the building was first built. Though they were sure that the maintenance people knew about it, there was serious doubt as to whether anyone else did, so the secret was passed down, Senior to Junior, Junior to Sophmore and so on. No one other than a french horn player was ever told about the secret entrance, so it was no wonder why Crispy and Ebony were so surprised.

"How do you know?" Ebony asked in a lower tone.

"Well you know, I always wondered why french horn players always managed to retrieve their instruments, even when the doors were locked... so I followed one."

"Maybe that's how the killer got in. We should tell the police about it." Stephanie suggested.

"Probably not," said Crispy matter of factly. "The director was already in there, the doors would have been open. This... Phantom wouldn't have needed our secret entrance."

"Not secret anymore..." Ebony corrected grumpily.

Crispy thought for a moment and then said, "Brandon, you were in there. What _exactly_ does it say on the wall?

"It says 'The Phantom of the Band Room is Here'... something like that." Ebony snorted at the previously stated lack of originality of the killer's title. Crispy ignored her.

"Was there anything else going on in there that we couldn't see from out here?"

"Yeah. Really interesting. There aren't any fingerprints... _anywhere_. Not even on the instruments. Completely wiped clean."

"That place is huge! How could anyone pull that off?"

"I know... I've never seen Josh's tuba so clean... ever."

Ebony broke in. "I guess practice is cancelled for a while,eh? Anyone want to go for pizza?" Crispy shot her a look that showed that she was clearly being insensitive to the situation.

"At a time like this all you guys seem to care about is the revealing of the stupid air duct. Think about it. Someone is _dead_. Does this not bother you at all?" Everyone looked guilty for a moment... except for Stephanie.

"I'm not sure exactly what you want us to do, Crispy. I mean, I know it's certainly not a good thing that's happened here, but there's nothing we can do about it. We can't bring him back to life, and it's not our job to burry him either."

"I just thought a little more reverance was in order."

Crispy was amazed by the swiftness with which the board of directors found a new music teacher, a rather obese man named Michael Gaylord. If Crispy was upset at her fellow students' reaction to Mr. Moreau's death it was nothing compared to her feelings about how they treated the new teacher. Sure she didn't like everything about him, but she and Mr. Moreau had never exactly gotten along either. If she heard one more slur on his name...

"Did you see his highlights? He looks even gayer now than he did before!" Ebony said gleefully one afternoon. Mr. Gaylord had sent everyone out for sectional practice. In the entire french horn section, Crispy seemed to be the only one to remember this. Everyone was discussing their objections to the new director's ways. Ebony was seated atop a picnic table with two others. A girl named Mallory was sprawled out in the grass. Nick, their section leader, was leaning angainst a nearby tree chatting with the only baritone player, Chris. Crispy was hidden behind several music stands writing a note in her music to remind herself not to play straight through Nick's solo. It didn't look any different from the rest of the piece, and she often missed the word 'solo' typed in tiny letters above it.

"Did you know he has a MySpace?" Mallory asked.

"No way? What does he have on it?"

"He says that every day since he started work here has been the worst day of his life."

Crispy looked up. "Small wonder, the way you all treat him." She picked up her horn and began to play Nick's solo, just to drown out the conversation. She thought it was one of the prettiest pieces she had heard in a long while and was immediately enveloped in her own sound. She had joined band because she needed another elective, but she stayed because she had lost her soul in music.

She suddenly found herself gripping only air. She looked up from her music to see Nick holding her horn and scowling.

"You really think you deserve to play that, Crispy?" he asked menacingly.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You can't play it. You remember what happened last time you had the solo. Wouldn't you hate to be embarrassed again?" Crispy glared back. Two years ago, she had been a junior in high school and Nick had been a senior. Mr. Green passed out a new piece and without saying a word, gave Crispy the first part and Nick the second. Seeing his mistake, they switched music. The director turned back to them and said, "What did you do that for? I choose who plays which parts, not you." If that hadn't made Nick angry enough, he then saw that Crispy had a solo. At the concert several months later, Crispy found that she wasn't ready for a solo. She flubbed the entire thing. She was never given a first part again. How ironic that her enemy from so long ago had just so happened to attend her top choice college. If she'd have known it might not have been her top choice.

"Give me back my horn, Nick"

"Gollum want's his Precious? Fine." He tossed it back to her. She scrambled to catch it before it hit her music stands. "Freshmen horn anyhow. Don't know why you're so possessive of a piece of crap like that."

"Come on. He's just telling those old stories to make himself feel better. He probably feels threatened with you being new here and already being second chair. You've obviously improved a lot from then." Brandon was willing to try anything to make Crispy feel better. Crispy never really cried or got angry, she just became silent and hard and to him, that was infinitely worse.

"Actually I haven't." she said, almost monotone.

"You have though! I heard you play that solo he was talking about just yesterday. You sounded great."

"You don't understand. Stop please." How could he understand? He didn't know anything about this. They had only met this year.

"Make me understand then." he said stubbornly.

"I was able to play that solo back then too. No problem. My problem wasn't my skills. I was always better than Nick. I just get nervous..."

"That just takes practice, you know. One day you'll be used to it and you'll be like Valery Polekh or someone like that." Brandon hoped the mention of one of her favorite horn players might give her a little encouragement, but not so.

"Not if Nick has anything to say about it."


	3. Her Second Chance

"Tune up. I can only stall a few more minutes."

Crispy wondered at the empty seat to her left. How could Nick miss a concert? How could Nick miss _this_ concert? He had the solo for God's sake.

"Uh, Mr. G? The hammer's missing again a percussionist whispered meekly.

"You're kidding me," he said in aggravation. "What a fiasco this is going to be… Crispy, your going to have to take over Nick's part for the serenade." Crispy nodded. She scrambled through Nick's music folder looking for the part she had barely ever played. She had no time to practice it, they were already on stage. How was she going to sight read music… in front of an audience…Where was Nick?

Mr. G conducted the first piece, a lively march. There wasn't anything to worry about. Not yet anyhow. Maybe Nick would come a little late. There was still a chance.

The second piece left Crispy more than a little nervous. She felt short of breath. Her horn felt slippery under her hands. How could she play if she couldn't breath? Oh God…

The band decrecendoed to a dark rolling rumble no louder than the wind outside. There was no time left to pull herself together. Despite her lack of oxygen, she started as best as she could. Despite her trembling insides, her first note was remarkably steady. The easy part was starting. She had never been able to play a high A, which of course this piece contained. She didn't manage it this night either. Though she observed that the piccolo player received considerably more applause, she had survived the night without embarrassing herself too badly, but where was Nick, who had never missed so much as one practice, been that night?


	4. What Happened To Nick?

Crispy rather enjoyed playing first chair. So much so, that she felt crestfallen when a week from the concert, Nick entered the band room… but then she felt guilty. His left arm, the one he used to play, was in a cast all the way up to the shoulder. After a moment with the director, he addressed the band.

"Sorry guys, but I can't play anymore." He gestured towards his arm. "I won't be coming back." He retrieved his instrument from the instrument room and gave it to Crispy. "I'm counting on you to take care of her." He said with a significant look. Nick left the band to murmur loudly across the room at each other. Mr. G called the class to order and resumed practice.

Crispy rushed out of the band room after practice, not even stopping to put Nick's instrument away. She knew she had to find him as soon as she saw "The Phantom of the Band Room is here," written in permanent marker on the bell.

"I knew you'd come." Nick said. He was leaning against a large oak tree. Just a week ago he had done the same thing at a sectional as he taunted Crispy about her playing. "No one believes you about the phantom. I didn't up till now, but then again, we were never really friends were we?"

"That's putting it lightly." Nick kicked an apple that some passerby had carelessly dropped. "You don't have to tell me, Nick."

"Yes! I do! You must know. The police have got it all wrong. I was the only one there. All the lights were off. I tried flipping the lightswitch, but they wouldn't come on. They grabbed me from behind, pinned me against the wall. They had the drumline's hammer… and then…"

"Your arm."

"Yeah. The doctors didn't even bother to count how many places it was broken in, it was so shattered."

"surely you could play again, though."

"Perhaps, but I won't. The Phantom, she told me…"

"SHE!" Crispy looked up at the tree whenre the exclamation had come from. There sat Brandon, camera in hand, grinning nervously. Nick shuffled his feet a moment.

"I… uh… think I'll go… You will catch her, won't you?"

Crispy nodded. As soon as Nick was out of earshot, she rounded on Brandon. "What are you doing?" she asked with her signature quiet anger.

"Making a documentary. I'm calling it, 'The Phantom Unmasked: When Fiction Becomes Reality'"

"That's just lovely. So you're stalking his victims are you?"

"You, actually. He's right, you know. The police will never catch him… her. You will. I have a knack for knowing these things."

"Crazy. You scared my first real clue away with your stupid camera."

"Listen, I'll make a deal with you. A fair trade I think."

"What kind of trade?"

"Footage of our lady at work in exchange for the right to make my movie."

Crispy searched his face for some sign of a lie. His breathing was steady. He kept eye contact…

"Well, what's your plan?"

"This camera has a motion activate mode. All you have to do is hide it, and when the Phantom comes, it will turn on and capture her every move."

"Well help me hide the camera then." She turned back to the band room. "But no more scaring away the clues!"

"How could I refuse?"


	5. Music In The Night

"Do you know why I'm here?" the Phantom asked in a dulcet whisper.

"Er... no," Brandon replied, examining his surroundings. It was so dark that he could barely tell that he was in the band room. Through the darkness however, himself and the only other occupant seemed strangely illuminated.

"I won't tell you, then." She smirked.

"Why not?" asked Brandon who was still not wholly paying attention. How did he get in the band room, and why was he wearing his pajamas?

"I want to show you." The phantom came so close that he could feel her breath on his face. It was cold. She pressed her lips against his.

"Holy..." Brandon stumbled backwards and landed on his pillow. He looked up, but she was gone. The band room was gone. He was back in his dorm staring at his Greenday poster and listening to his roommate snore loudly. "What the hell was that?" Completely bewildered, he laid himself back down and pulled his covers over his head. He was reluctant to sleep again; that was too wierd a dream to want to experience again. However, as is often the case, sleep does not care whether you want it or not, and by morning it had stolen the memory of the night from him.


	6. Wrongly Accused

"It hasn't happened again, has it?" asked Stephanie, a note of fear in her voice.

"No. If it had this place would be swarming with police again." said Crispy logically.

The band was waiting outside the band room, which was locked. A few were pondering the exact same thing as Stephanie, but most were just agrivated and impatient. Crispy wondered whether something else had happened. In the month that they had known him, Mr. Gaylord had never arrived more than a few minutes late. It had now been almost twenty.

Everyone set about doing things to pass the time. Several people were gathered around a girl who had brought tarot cards. Ebony was watching a portable television. On the grass, fifteen boys, Brandon included, had built a human pyramid and were now attempting to make it even bigger. Crispy practiced on what was once Nick's horn.

That permanent marker had proven difficult to erradicate. After Crispy had rubbed, scrubbed, and scratched at the phantom's calling card, it became apperent that it wouldn't be removed. She opted out for covering it up with an extra long hand guard that she had created herself. It covered more of the horn than a regular one, and most of the phantom's message.

Now that she was playing first chair, Crispy found herself practicing every free moment she could find. Nothing disturbed her music anymore, now that Nick was gone.

Today was an exception to the rule. Ebony shouted, "'Special report' my ass!"

"No kidding," said Stephanie. "How could anything possibly interrupt Chobits?"

"Will you be quiet?" asked Crispy, who was now looking over their shoulders at a small picture of the missing Mr. Gaylord on the screen.

"Gaylord has been taken into custody for the murder of his predecessor, Russel Moreau snd the assoult on his student, Nick Rice," the anchor said. "The police spokesperson would give no other comment at this point. We will keep you updated as these events progress."

The entire band went silent at these words then became as loud as they had been when Mr. Moreau had been found dead.

"So _he_ did it then?" asked Ebony.

"Seems that way. He had motive anyway." Stephanie said, clearly accepting the director's guilt.

"And what motive would that be?" asked Crispy incredulously.

"Quite simple. He wouldn't be working here if Mr. Moreau hadn't been murdered." Stephanie said matter of factly.

"But he didn't want this job even when he had been murdered. He took this job because noone else would. And why on earth would he maim his own student?" Crispy demanded.

"You don't know?" Stephanie asked. "You can't possibly..."

"What?"

"He did it for you. You're the teacher's pet. You're the only one who's even remotely nice to him. Nick would never let you have that solo, so he _made_ him give you that solo."

Crispy stared in awe. She never before realized how stupid her friends could be.

"I think Crispy's right on this one guys," Brandon interupted. "These motives you've come up don't make any sense under these circumstances."

"The police must know something we don't," Ebony stated.

"You don't want to listen to me, I'm sure, but let me tell you what I think," Crispy said, bordering on anger. "I think that this was a false arrest. I think the police are desperate. It's been six weeks and they haven't found so much as a single suspect. They had to do something to save face."

"You think so?" inquired Mallory, who was rather interested in the conversation.

"That makes more sense than Stephanie's idea," Brandon agreed.

"We should try to help. Mr. Gaylord shouldn't be in prison," Crispy exclaimed.

"What are you going to do, break him out of his cell and buy him a ticket to Mexico?" Stephanie asked. There was no way Crispy was right on this one.

"I think the police know what they're doing, Crispy. Let them do their job and if he's innocent, they'll let him go."

"You're so naiive, Eb!" Crispy shouted. "I wouldn't be suprised if you were only saying that because Stephanie did. Do you know how many innocent people are sent to jail before the true criminal is found, if at all? If you're not going to fight this, I am. Someone has to." Crispy picked up her horn and left for anywhere where no one else was.

The wind whispered assurance to Crispy as it glided through the trees. Cicadas hissed their approval. At least Crispy hoped that was what was happening. She fancied she felt a hand on her shoulder telling her what she did was right.

"You're beter than them, Crispy." Crispy realized there _was_ a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face Brandon, who had apparently followed her. "Your music," he said as he handed it to her. "You left it back there."

"Do you really think I did the right thing? I mean it really isn't my job, and now my friends think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy. I think that it is your job to save Mr. G. when the police aren't thinking straight."

"But now that I think about it, I don't even know where to start."

"All you have to do is prove he isn't the phantom, and the easiest way to do that is to get the phantom to do something else."

"... to do that we'll need... someone will have to sit and wait for the phantom to attack them... no one would do that."

"I would," Brandon said.

"Oh don't be stupid. This is my deal. I'll do it.," Crispy insisted.


	7. Setting The Trap

There was , of course, a positive side to staying up all night: Crispy got all of her schoolwork done. The abd thing was that she was ridiculously tired during her classes. She found herself doing anything to pass the time, anything to stay awake.

One night she was determined to teach herself Korean. The school didn't teach Korean... She managed to find a computer program that would recite phrases for her then evaluate how well she repeated them. It was actually quite entertaining.

Her laptop began to beep loudly. "Oh no..." she sighed. She hadn't charged it enough and she had left the cords in her dorm. It powered down and the humming sound that had filled the room disappeared.

Crispy searched the darkened room. Though the computer was off, she could still hear something... likr someone... snoring... She followed the sound to a practice room that the drumline usually used. As usual, the drumline had left it quite a mess. Inside of a bass drum, curled up asleep, was Brandon. She nudged him awake.

"What are you doing here?" Brandon blinked for a moment.

"Calculus..." he said, gesturingbat an empty sheet of paper, textbook, and calculator. Crispy was strangely transfixed by the calculator.

"Where did you get that?"

"Above a ceiling tile. Just there, actually." He gestured to a spot some three feet to the left of them.

Crispy sighed. Brandon had discovered the second of the french horn secrets. There were three total. Was it possible that he knew them all? She doubted it.

"What are you doing here, though?" she repeated.

"I told you, calculus."

"But why here?" Brandon shrugged away the question. "I told you I would do this. I don't need your help."

"What about safety in numbers, eh?"

"No."

Brandon shrugged again and left saying, "Fine then. I'll just leave you to be all heroic and self sacrificing by yourself." Once he had left, Crispy immediately regretted her decision. It was so quiet in the band room...


	8. Brandon Revisited

No one entered the bandroom after nightfall anymore, but Brandon knew he had too. He had convinced Crispy to have a night off, and he forgot to turn the camera on for her. He reached up to the shelf where the camera sat to push the record button, but felt nothing but air. He looked to see if he had perhaps misjudged the distance, but saw that there was no distance to judge. The camera was gone.

He searched the band room, including each individual cubby, in hopes that some one had taken it down to play with it. He stood up after checking the last of the tuba cubbies in despair. He said aloud, "Damn. That camera belonged to the school. Now I'm gonna have to pay for it."

"Don't worry, love. You'll have it back."

Brandon spun around to see the blood red eyes of the phantom smiling at him.

"What are you doing? Going to kill me for getting in your way?"

"Why should I do that, love? Your camera is only a minor annoyance."

"Don't call me that," Brandon growled. The phantom's smile faded to a dark scowl.

"Ah, Crispy. She is stepping closer and closer to the fire." Brandon looked questioningly at these words. "She will die by the time this ends, and you know it. She will look into my eyes and feel death taking her hand. Do you want that on your conscience?"

Brandon stared defiantly back. He wasn't about to let the phantom know that she had struck a nerve. If something happened to Crispy, had he done all he could? "I won't let you do anyhting to her."

"Don't be so silly, love."

"Don't call me that!" Brandon shouted so menacingly that even the phantom was taken aback. She quickly regained her normal temperment.

"A challenge? What fun!" She dashed into the dark expanse of the band room and disappeared.

Brandon paused for a moment. Did he dare leave the brass room? He poked his head out the door and try to make out anything in the darkness. The shadows were inpalpable. He felt his way along the wall, making his way for the secret french horn entrance. He wasn't sure if staying against a wall would do him any good, but at this point it didn't really matter. He felt his way past the drum room, the director's office and the woodwind room. Finally he found the open vent in the wall that he had entered through. The lid slammed shut immediately, narrowly missing his fingers.

"Not getting out that way, love. That would be too easy." The phantom laughed from somewhere in the shadows. Brandon would have to find another way. Wasn't the door in the drum room sometimes left open? He had to try.

He made it to the drum room, faster this time, but to no avail. The door was locked. He wondered if he could break through the window. He picked up a chime mallet, but when he swung it, his empty fist made a bloody hole in the window. He faced the phantom, holding his hand. As she twirled the mallet playfully she said, "How about a deal, love. You look so pathetic that way. You get to choose. Her life... or yours." She looked positively gleeful as she glided back into the band room.

The drum room door suddenly opened by itself. Brandon looked out at the moonlit night, and then back into the band room. How could he possibly explain this to Crispy? Then there was the fact that the phantom looked and sounded so familiar...


	9. Photographs

The sun was almost blinding as Crispy wandered towards her Arabic 101 class. She was majoring in music, but she was also endeavoring to take every language class her college offered. By far this had been her favorite and she hadn't missed a class yet.

"Crispy! I finally found you..." Brandon ran up to her panting.

"What's going on?" she stopped walking and looked concerned as Brandon started coughing heavily. She held out a bottle of water which he downed completely before continuing.

"We got her."

"We got her? You mean..."

"Yeah. Come on!" Brandon started racing back in the direction he came from. Crispy debated the matter for a moment, then followed after him.

Brandon shut off the lights in the small unused workroom that he had set up shop in. Crispy stared at the empty band room on the screen. Suddenly the T.V. seemed to blur over, like someone was breathing on it. A shadow, unmistakably the phantom moved accross the screen towards the wall. In large letters she started writing a new message on the wall.

"What's she writing?" Crispy demanded. "Why is everything all fuzzy?"

"I don't know." Brandon said quietly.

"Can you enhance the picture?"

"Could take a day or two."

"A day or two? That's too long!"

"I'm sure it will be fine." There was a silence as they watched the phantom retreat. The camera remained fuzzy, then went black. The band room was empty again. "Something about this footage doesn't make any sense, though," Brandon mused.

"What's that?"

"If she wrote something on the wall, which it's obvious that she did, why wasn't it there this morning?"

Crispy furrowed her brow. That was true. There had been nothing on the wall that morning during class.

"If only I had been there. I didn't go for one night, and it's the one night she shows up. Figures. I won't spend another night out of that band room until I catch her," Crispy said resolutely.

"But, you can't..." Brandon stopped short. What was he doing?

"I can't?"

"I... don't think you should."

"Why not?"

"I worry about you when you're in there." Brandon stepped closer to Crispy. "It's not safe like it used to be." Crispy looked struck for a moment.

"Brandon?..."

Brandon took Crispy's hand in his own and looked at her in a way that Crispy hadn't seen before. "I don't want to see you hurt."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm..." Brandon started. He let go of Crispy and turned away. "I don't know. Nothing. What are you talking about? I gotta go...late for... something..." Crispy watched him open the door and walk outside.

"Brandon, wait!" she shouted after him as he closed the door. He

looked back. Crispy saw in his eyes an unbelievable sadness. "It's alright. Don't go."

"It's alright?" The words semed to confuse him. He walked back into the room and closed the door. They were both immersed in darkness again.

"It's alright," Crispy repeated. She came closer to him and kissed his cheek. "However, I'm late for class."

She left him there in the dark room. He wondered if he would be able to protect her from he danger he created.

"...Crispy..." Brandon started hesitantly a few days later. Crispy was eating her lunch slowly and admiring the rain outside the cafeteria.

"Hm?" She looked away from the raging torrents. Brandon held out to her a plain yellow envelope. Noticing his nervous expression she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Well, no... just look." Crispy lifted out of the envelope and handful of pictures. They were the pictures she had been waiting for, but she saw immediately why Brandon looked nervous.

"She looks like me..."

"She sounds like you too." Brandon added quietly.

"What? How do you know?" demanded Crispy. "You said he cameras don't record sound."

"I kinda bumped into her the other day..."

Crispy waited for Brandon to continue, but he didn't. "Well?"

Brandon looked out at the rain despairingly. "Could we go somewhere private?

Thirty minutes later, Crispy was staring at her floor wondering why Brandon hadn't told her any of this before. She told him she wanted to be alone, but now that she was, she felt almost angry that he hadn't told her that he had to decide between her and... the other her... The words on the wall read "Crispy's war shall end, one way or the other." She just hoped it went her way, not the phantom's. She pushed the anger away to contemplate another quandry. Why did the phantom look so much like her? The only noticable difference had been her blood red eyes. If she used those pictures to free Mr. Gaylord, _she_ would be arrested in his place. Then who would catch the phantom?


	10. A Whole Different Person

"Why don't you just go over and talk to them?" Brandon asked after watching Crispy stare at Stephanie and Ebony over her breakfast.

"Because they wouln't believe me and they refused to help me." she said simply.

"I think that if they knew what we knew, they'd want very much to help you." Crispy looked at Brandon skeptically.

"Don't even." She ceased gazing at her friends across the cafeteria and continued eationg in silence.

"That's crazy..." Ebony trailed off as she look in disbelief at the photographs of the phantom.

"And you guys are dating now? Good for you!" Stephanie added, "About time."

"And the sound the same too?"

"Yeah." It was easy for them to remain relatively calm and cheerful through Brandon's explanation. He had left out his encounter with the phantom. If they knew, he'd hate to worry them.

He had brought them to the small room where they had first caught the phantom on tape. Crispy seemed to spend more time here than anywhere else; it was only a matter of time until she showed up, and when she did...

Crispy stared for a moment as though she wasn't sure if she was in the right place. Then her face went hard and she made to leave. Brandon leapt from his seat and placed a hand on her shoulder saying, "Oh no you don't. I'm tired of you sitting there wishing that you guys were friends again and doing nothing about it."

"I said no." She sat down in his chair eyeing her friends suspiciously.

"Crispy," Ebony pleaded, "won't you at least listen?"

"Listen? You refused to listen to me. I've been here every day risking my neck, and Brandon too, and what have you to been doing?"

"Nothing," Stephanie answered, "I know, but we want to change that. Can't we just try?"

"Change this." she said in a dark hiss as she pulled back her fist to strike. Brandon seized her arm and restrained her.

"Now none of that. If you'd calm down, I think you'd see that they are sincerely sorry."

Crispy faced Brandon and wrenced her wrist from his grasp. She shook her head at him in disgust and bassed him to leave the room.

"So that's it then, is it? No mercy, not even for me?" asked Brandon with a sorry look upon his face.

"You know what? That isn't it." She returned to him, eyes flashing. He felt her hand across his face, first like ice, then fire. He made no reaction to being slapped, but simply kept his pitying gaze on Crispy. He watched as her expression changed from one of rage, to one of shocked fear.

"Oh God," she said to no one in particular. "What am I doing?" She ran from the room, from the building. She had to think. Alone.

"What..." Stephanie could barely speak. "Was that really Crispy? She was making no sense..."

"No," Brandon replied in a sorrowful tone, still staring at the door. "She's changed since you've known her, since I've loved her even. That wasn't Crispy. The Crispy you know is dead."

There was still one french horn secret that Brandon didn't know about, and Crispy planned to make use of it: the Loft. In the band room there was an elevator that lead to an upstairs storage space. Often more promiscuous students used it to hide their late night escapades. Tonight it hid Crispy.

She rocked back and forth with the lights off. She never in her right mind would have done that... and yet she had. She suddenly heard her own voice calling out to her in the darkness.

"He chose you... so did I..." She jumped from her place on the floor and tried to penetrate the darkness in the direction of the sound.

"Who's there?" she asked, frightened. The lights swiched on of their own accord to reveal a cardboard box... with her name on it.

She lifted the lid to find that it was filled with old colorguard uniforms from who knew when. There were some black rags, a purple dress, all ugly things really. She kept searching. There was something rather engrossing about the box of costumes. She found some old ribbons, a flowered wreath, a white mask, and a pair of wings. "What strange stuff," she said aloud. "I can't believe our guard actually war these things..."


	11. Crispy's Mask

Brandon stared at the elevator door and prayed he would find Crispy at the top. Ebony had been reluctant to tell him the last of the secrets, but he was now armed with the code that would open it. He reached out and started pushing the buttons... 3... 5... 1...9...

"She told you?" Crispy asked from behind him. He turned, relieved, but then realized relief was not to be found. The phantom smiled sweetly at him.

"Something's different..." Brandon couldn't quite place it. The phantom remained silent. "You're not..." He stared, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. It was not the phantom looking so sweetly back at him after all. "Crispy?"

Crispy smiled a little wider. "I can't believe she told you. Us french horns have no secrets now."

"I came..." What was she doing? What was she _wearing_?

"I know why you came. You're still trying to save me."

"Why... Your clothes..." She was toying with him, it seemed.

"Forgive me Brandon? I... I have no idea what happened back there... it was like it wasn't even me doing it..."

"I will... If you take that mask off."

"Take it off?" Crispy said sadly as she turned away. "What if I don't want to?" she added in a wholly different tone of voice.

"What..."

Crispy turned around. Crispy saw that Crispy was gone. The phantom stepped towards him and gazed at him pleadingly.

"Don't you see, love? You can have us both. She won't have to die. Mercy is wonderful, no?"

Brandon shook his head and stepped backwards. "No." The phantoms face was hard and wrathful again. "I would be a fool to agree to that. You've already killed her, anyone can see that."

The phantom, finally giving up on her endeavor, eyed him pleasantly. "You really think so?"

"...The police are attributing the fire to 'the phantom of the band room' as they are calling themselves. There was one fatality in the band room fire. Brandon Chesney, a nineteen year old film student at the college was found chained to a timpani. Police have proclaimed Michael Gaylord innocent in lieu of recent events, however, they have no other suspects at this time. If you have any infor..." Stephanie turned off the television and looked despairingly at Ebony. She was sobbing over the contents which had come as a surprise to both of them.

_Friends,_

_I have commited unforgivable crimes these past months. Early on I did not understand why I was doing them. Moreau's murder is still somewhat of a mystery to me, though there has always been emnity between us. Nick has had it coming since his senior year in high school. He has been holding me back from my dreams for far too long. For the longest time I fancied that it wasn't me doing these things, that I was innocent. But I killed Brandon Chesney. The phantom and I are one in the same. I go now to save you from me. I gp in search of the peace I stole from you, and from myself. I am the phantom of the band room, and the phantom of the band room is gone._

_Crispy Cage_


End file.
